


Just a Little Help

by accidentallyonpurpose



Series: A Little Help [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A little, Age Play, Angst, Fluff, John Watson Takes Care of Sherlock Holmes, Little Sherlock, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Spanking, Wetting, little!sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 01:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12222963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentallyonpurpose/pseuds/accidentallyonpurpose
Summary: A sweet one shot between John and little Sherlock. Inspired by the idea of Sherlock Holmes in footie pyjamas and how cute that would be.





	Just a Little Help

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at age play. Also I'm terrible at endings :S Please let me know if you like it and if there's anything else in this world you'd like to see. I have a feeling this won't be the last story!

“Sherlock Holmes, come here this instant!” John barked, slamming the door behind him.  
Sherlock, caked from the knees down in mud, stomped over to the stairs. “No!” he shouted back petulantly.   
“Now!” John growled, pointing at the floor in front of him.  
“No! No! No! No! No!” Sherlock shouted, punctuating each “no” with a stomp up the stairs. When he had reached the top he stomped into the room, slamming the door behind him.  
“Jesus,” John breathed, sloughing off his coat and hanging it on the hook by the door. He took a cleansing breath, bracing himself for the battle he was about to face.   
John thought about how Sherlock going to the upstairs-bedroom-come-nursery gave a hint as to his headspace. If Sherlock was bypassing the usual dithering that came before he slipped into his little headspace, that meant he was already slipping down.   
They were just getting back from a case, one that had ended with Sherlock diving into a muck-filled river after a criminal. Despite his heroic act, he had missed the criminal and Lestrade’s crew had picked her up on the other side of the river. That left John to fish Sherlock out and drag him back home; the cab ride had been a silent one. John was unimpressed with Sherlock’s lack of self-preservation as well as his current attitude.  
Shaking himself back into the present, John made his way more sedately up the stairs and stopped at the nursery door, knocking softly.   
“Sherlock?” he called through the door. A large sniff was the only answer he got. “Sherlock, I’m coming in.”  
John gently opened the door, poking his head in. Sherlock was sitting on the white-washed bed on top of the cartoon sheets, knees drawn up to his chest and arms crossed on top. His Belstaff was fanned out behind him like a muddy cape.   
“Hey love,” John said softly. “How about we get you changed, hm?”  
Sherlock glared at him over his crossed arms. “No. Go ‘way.” He tucked his face back into his folded arms.   
John glanced around the room, taking in the nappy paraphernalia scattered around the base of the changing table, and the toy box in the opposite corner that had been over turned, belching out it’s contents.   
“Sherlock, did you do that?” John asked calmly, pointing at the nappies and toy box.  
“No,” Sherlock mumbled sullenly from behind his arms.  
“Really? So the nappies and toy box turned themselves over, did they?”  
“Yes,” Sherlock answered curtly.   
“Sherlock Holmes, don’t you lie to me,” John said, his voice getting firmer.   
“M not,” he mumbled.   
John sighed, changing tactic. “Let’s get you changed out of your wet clothes, alright?”  
“No.”  
“But wouldn’t it feel so much better to be out of your wet clothes?” John asked.  
“No. Go away. I don’t want you.” Sherlock’s arms tightened around his knees.   
“Sherlock, you don’t talk to me that way. This is your warning.” John was starting to lose patience. “Now come on, let’s get changed.”  
John walked to the bed, grabbing one of Sherlock’s arms and trying to use it to manoeuver Sherlock off the bed. Sherlock resisted, tugging on his arm and whining.   
“Stop that,” John said. “You, sir, are on your way to a spanking.” John grabbed both of Sherlock’s arms and bodily lifted. Sherlock whined louder and went limp, dragging John back down onto the bed with him. “That’s it,” John said. “You’re getting a spanking.”  
“No, no, no,” Sherlock cried, trying to crowd himself into the corner of the bed, still curled in a ball. “No spanking!”  
“Yes, spanking,” John said. “You had your warning and chose not to heed it. Now you get a spanking. You know how it works, Sherlock.”  
Sherlock went limp, resigned to his fate. John, assuming he’d get compliance, went to lift Sherlock by the armpits. As he did, Sherlock leapt back into action, slithering out of John’s grasp. “No!”  
“What has gotten into you?” John asked, stepping away from the bed and crossing arms. “Sherlock, this behavior is unacceptable. Now, do as your told and stand.”  
Sherlock stared balefully at John for a moment but, when he realized he would not win, slowly unfolded his arms and let them fall to his sides. He could feel his lips trying to tug downwards as he watched John, waiting for the recognition to light his eyes.   
It took John a moment to realize that the dark stain around Sherlock’s crotch and down his thighs was not mud, but rather urine.   
“Oh, Sherlock,” John sighed, “when did this happen?”  
Sherlock’s lips trembled slightly as they tried to tug downwards. “Cab,” he said shakily.  
John only spared a moment’s thought for the wet seat in the back of a cab he would never see again before surging forward, gently taking Sherlock’s arm.   
“Let’s get you in a nappy,” John said, tone gentle but betraying that he was still unhappy with Sherlock’s behavior. Sherlock felt a few tears slip down his cheeks as John led him over to the dark wooden changing table. John sat him on the light blue pad on top, reaching forward to strip him of his Belstaff. After he was done, he pressed lightly on his chest to get him to lay back. Sherlock went without complaint, one hand tucking up under his chin while he tucked the other thumb in his mouth. He was still quietly crying, mouth curled down around his thumb.   
John quickly undid his shoes, taking them and his socks off. Then, he undid Sherlock’s belt, tapping on his hip to get him to raise them. His trousers and pants were quickly yanked down his legs and off, and were cast onto the floor to be dealt with later. John, after a raised eyebrow at Sherlock and a pointed look at the floor, scooped up a nappy and cream from the floor. He efficiently applied the nappy, giving Sherlock a hand up when he was done.   
Sherlock was still sobbing quietly as John led him back over to the bed. John sat down, pulling Sherlock over his lap.   
“Right, now I’m going to give you ten spanks,” John told him as he settled Sherlock. “I’m spanking you because of your behavior earlier. You need to listen to me when I tell you to do something, and we never throw things.” John paused a moment to see if he would get a response but when he only got a whimper in response, he continued. “Alright, here we go.”   
John landed the first one gently, more of a warning than an actual spank. The next few were harder, John making sure Sherlock could feel it through the nappy. The next handful were harder, to get the message across. When he was done, Sherlock was openly sobbing, snot and tears running down his face and into the comforter. His face was buried in his arms as his body wracked with sobs.   
“There you go, you’re all done, you’re forgiven, here we go,” John soothed, lifting Sherlock up and cradling him in his lap. He tucked Sherlock’s head into the crook of his neck and held him there, letting Sherlock cry it out. “Now, how about you help me clean up the mess, and then we’ll get you in a nice warm bath, alright?” Sherlock’s sobs had slowed and now he was sniffling, his breathing dangerously close to hiccups. “Take deep breaths for me, love,” John whispered, rubbing Sherlock’s back. Sherlock did as he was told, taking deep breaths and huffing them into John’s neck. “Good boy.” John held him for another moment before tapping him lightly on the rump. “Up we go.”  
Sherlock reluctantly clambered off John’s lap, rubbing his arm across his face and tucking his thumb once more in his mouth.   
“Why don’t you start on your toy box?” John asked, walking over to the nappy supplies and starting to put them back in place. As he did, he opened the top drawer on the changing table and pulled out a spare pacifier, walking over to Sherlock.  
“Here love,” he said, gently pulling Sherlock’s thumb out of his mouth and replacing it with the pacifier. “Now you’ll have both hands available to clean faster,” John grinned at his unimpressed expression and kissed him on the forehead. He went back over to the changing table, picking up the last of the supplies and putting them in their rightful place. Thankfully, none of the cream or powder had spilled, so it was a rather quick clean up.   
John glanced over to see Sherlock put his last toy away, closing the lid on the toy box and glancing back at John.  
“Done,” he mumbled from around his pacifier.   
“Good boy, thank you for your help,” John said, taking Sherlock’s hand. “Now, let’s go get you into a nice bath.”   
John led him to the bathroom, sitting him on the toilet seat while he turned to start the bath running. When he had set it to the right temperature, John turned back to Sherlock, stripping him out of his dress shirt but leaving him in his nappy for the time being.   
“Pirates, mermaids or ducks?”   
“Maids,” Sherlock answered, pacifier bobbing as he talked.   
“Mermaids it is,” John said jovially, reaching under the sink and pulling out a small tub of mermaid toys. He turned the water off, dipping his fingers into the three inches to test the temperature. Satisfied, he turned to Sherlock.   
“Alright, here we go.” John took both Sherlock’s hands, lifting so that he was standing. Then, he took the tape off the nappy and removed it, throwing it in the garbage. “Climb in,” John prompted, urging Sherlock into the bath and helping him lower himself. When Sherlock was happily seated in the water, John dumped the toys into the bath. Sherlock scrambled to grab as many mermaids as he could, splashing and making them swim in the water. John grinned at his boy, who was finally happy. John wet a flannel, running it efficiently over Sherlock’s muddy legs and feet. He worked his way up towards Sherlock’s crotch, taking extra care to wipe any excess urine off his thighs. He continued over Sherlock’s chest and back, not too worried about thoroughly cleaning him. He let the water roll of Sherlock’s back, watching the streams trickle down his spine. Sherlock wiggled at the sensation, glaring at John.  
“Okay, okay, I’m done,” John chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. “You can play for a few more minutes and then we’ll get you tucked into bed.”  
Sherlock whined a little. “Play,” he whinged.   
“Yes, you keep playing,” John appeased. “I’m going to go get your pajamas. I’ll be back in a tick. You’ll be alright for a few minutes?”  
Sherlock nodded, sucking hard on his pacifier and enraptured with the mermaids dancing in the water. John watched him indulgently for a moment before going into Sherlock’s room, taking a pair of footie pajamas and a nappy back into the bathroom.   
When he walked in, Sherlock was knuckling his eye.   
“Just about ready to come out?” John asked.   
Sherlock grumbled but didn’t put up a fuss when John pulled the plug in the bath, slowly draining the water. John gave Sherlock his hand and helped him up and out of the bath. He wrapped a big fluffy towel around him, rubbing his down until he was completely dry. Then, he got him to lie down on the floor while he put on his new nappy and his pajamas.   
When Sherlock was ensconced in his molecule-decorated footie pajamas, John led him out and back into his bedroom. He pulled back the covers on the bed, getting Sherlock to lie down and pulling the cartoon-covered comforter over him.   
“Who do you want to sleep with tonight? Puppy, bear or bee?”  
“Bee,” Sherlock answered, looking adoringly up at John.  
“Alright.” John reached above Sherlock to the shelves attached to the head of the bed and pulled down his bee plush. “There you go.” Sherlock accepted the bee eagerly, tucking him happily under his chin.   
“Thanks,” Sherlock said happily. “Story?”   
“Of course,” John said, taking down a copy of The Secret Garden. “Chapter six, I believe?” John flipped the book open and perched on the bed beside Sherlock’s head. He started reading, one hand holding the book while the other carded through Sherlock’s curls. He barely got half a chapter in before Sherlock was asleep, suckling softly on his pacifier and clinging onto his bee.   
“Goodnight, my love,” John whispered, closing the book and replacing it on the shelf. “Sleep well.” He turned on the small moon nightlight plugged into the wall, turning off the overhead light. Before he left, he took one last look at his sweet boy, marveling at the fact that he was lucky enough to see this side of Sherlock.


End file.
